


I Am Not A Sponsor Of Super Quantum Unit Intel Processors

by Its_me_Michael



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: F/F, F/M, I don’t even know, M/M, ack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-06-28 06:04:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15701337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Its_me_Michael/pseuds/Its_me_Michael
Summary: Michael never liked chemistry anyway.Maybe that’s the reason why he agreed to skip class with his best friend Jeremy Heere and his girlfriend, Christine Canigula—to avoid the lecture.Said lecture usually went on for hours, going on and on about ionic bonds, isotopes, endothermic and exothermic reactions, and the worst of them all—buoyancy.At any point in time, if you asked him about the horrors of chemistry, he would gladly tell you how terrible it was. And that he would take any chance to miss out on it.But if he had known what was going to happen, he would have never skipped in the first place.





	1. Headaches Are Not Something You Should Make Fun Of

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Replaced](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14262492) by [GreenNanoTech](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenNanoTech/pseuds/GreenNanoTech). 



> I'm really not sure how this is going to turn out. Have fun. Don't die.

* * *

Michael never liked chemistry anyway.

Maybe that’s the reason why he agreed to skip class with his best friend Jeremy Heere and his girlfriend, Christine Canigula—to avoid the lecture.

Said lecture usually went on for hours, going on and on about ionic bonds, isotopes, endothermic and exothermic reactions, and the worst of them all— _buoyancy_.

At any point in time, if you asked him about the horrors of chemistry, he would gladly tell you how terrible it was. And that he would take any chance to miss out on it.

But if he had known what was going to happen, he would have never skipped in the first place.

“My head hurts,” Jeremy complained as they walked through the hallway. “It feels like someone’s hitting me in the back of the head over and over again.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “We’ve all had headaches before, Jer. We know what it feels like.”

Christine let out a giggle. “Shh, Michael, let the guy speak,” she said exaggeratedly, waving her arms. “He has a _headache_.”

”Shut up.” Jeremy flushed, causing an involuntary smile to appear on Michael’s face.

_Stop it. It’s not going to work._

_He’s still kinda cu—_

_Stop._

”Oh no!” he exclaimed, covering his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. “Not a _headache_!” Gasping for a more dramatic effect, he fell to his knees. “The world is ending!”

Christine laughed, her face splitting into a huge grin. “Oh my god, Michael! I didn’t know you were that much into act—”

”Hey, Headphones!” a lispy voice called from a distance. “You okay?”

Rich Goranksi was walking in the trio’s direction, waving his hands a bit. He looked worried... and exhausted.

”Yeah,” Michael responded, standing up and brushing off his jeans. He felt his face heat up with embarrassment and he coughed. “Jeremy heere has a headache.” He gestured to the taller boy, grinning a bit.

Rich, to Michael’s surprise, ignored the pun and instead sighed tiredly, looking at Jeremy. “You too?” he asked, rubbing his forehead.

Jeremy nodded.

Rich turned to Christine. “Take care of him,” he said to her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Jeremy rolled his eyes and scoffed. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “I don’t need any help. My headache’s not _that_ bad.”

”Yeah...” Michael said, eyeing Rich worriedly. “Your headache must be a lot worse.”

Rich nodded. His eyes were half-lidded, and he looked like he was about to fall asleep.

”Why are you out here?” Christine asked. “Not to sound rude or anything,” she quickly added. “It’s just that we’re um, skipping.” She looked uncomfortable and Michael felt bad for Christine, who probably hadn’t wanted to skip.

”I’m, um...” Rich thought for a moment. “Headed to... the nurse’s office? I think I fell in Wellne— P.E. or something.” He shrugged halfheartedly. “I can’t remember, really.”

Michael narrowed his eyes. _Why can’t he remember what happened?_

“You don’t remember... anything?” he said skeptically, looking at Rich a little closer. The exhaustion didn’t seem feigned.

Rich shook his head. “I don’t. And that scares me.” He looked around, as if he was searching for something. “I, uh... don’t have any energy to show it, though.”

”Maybe you should go home,” Michael suggested, looking Rich over again. “You don’t look too good.”

”I can’t!” he cried. “I take the bus!” He looked kind of frantic underneath all of the tiredness. His lisp came out more when he was panicking, and it showed now. He blushed, embarrassed, and looked at the ground.

“I’ll take you home,” Michael offered, smiling a bit at the short boy. 

“Really?” Rich said hopefully, a smile starting on his face as well.

Michael nodded and he grinned. “Please. That’d be cool.” He nodded. Then he seemed to realize something. “Oh! I mean, _chill_.”

Jeremy sighed and Christine laughed. “I guess we’ll stay here,” Jeremy said, and Christine nodded along with him.

Rich must have been slightly revived, since he nodded at the couple and said cheekily, “Yeah, go make out in the costume room or something.”

Christine blushed darkly and Jeremy coughed, choking on air.

Michael bit back a laugh. “Okay, Rich, let’s go.”

The pair walked out to his old Cruiser, opening the door.

”So are you actually okay?” Michael said, putting the car into drive.

Rich nodded his head again, but looked less sure of himself. After a few moments of silence, he said quietly, “I don’t know.”

The rest of the ride was silent except for Rich’s directions.

”That one,” he said, pointing out the window. “The one with the blue mailbox.”

Michael pulled up to the house.

Ever since Rich had stopped living with his dad and had moved to his brother’s house, he didn’t worry about going home alone as much as he used to. But he still needed a bit of reassurance because of what has happened in previous years.

Rich turned to Michael. “Can you come with me?” he asked, fidgeting nervously as he spoke. “It’s just— I’m not used to Dad not being here, and I’m still kinda scared that he might show up while my brother, James, is still in class and—“

”Okay,” Michael agreed.

“And I’m worried that he might— oh wait. What?” Rich ceased his rambling. “Did you say yes?”

Michael nodded and Rich sighed with relief. 

“Okay,” he said after a second. The two boys got out of the car and headed into the shorter boy’s house.

The house was quiet except for the sound of Rich and Michael’s soft footprints, creaking quietly in the dark house. Rich sighed in relief— both at the fact that his father wasn’t there and at the fact that he could stop moving— and flopped on the couch. “Ugh,” he groaned. “My head is going to murder me.”

Michael laughed quietly. “Do you have any medicine?” he asked.

Rich nodded. “In my bathroom upstairs. I’ll show you.” However, he didn’t move.

“Get up,” Michael said, poking Rich in the chest.

Grudgingly, Rich slid off of the couch and stood up. Walking up the stairs behind the short boy, Michael’s ears picked up a faint whispering noise coming from the door that Rich walked towards.

”Wait,” he said to Rich, his voice barely audible. Rich froze. “Listen—do you hear that?”

Rich paused for a moment, then nodded, since the whispers didn’t stop.

“Don’t go in yet,” he said cautiously, making his way next to Rich in front of the door.

The two boys leaned up against the door and listened silently.

”I need to—“ a voice said. “I need to see him.” The soft hushing noise continued for a few moments, then the same voice whispered, “Nerve blocking: on.”

”Shh,” another voice said. It was a bit deeper, but more devoid of emotions, like emotions were something you could turn off. The thought crossed Michael’s mind and he nearly snorted. “You’ll see him. The probability is very high. I know that I can't connect since we're offline, but the likelihood—”

”I know,” the first voice responded. It sounded collected now, less sad and broken. After a few moments, it said, "I'm glad we can turn this off."

"For now," the second voice responded.

Michael looked at Rich and nodded.

Slowly, Rich pushes the door open.

On Rich’s bed, two exhausted looking people sat side by side. They both seemed to identify as male, and be about seventeen or eighteen. They sat next to each other, close, but not touching. 

One of them was of short stature, with dark brown hair and startlingly green eyes. His skin was an almond color, but many freckles were clear on his face.

The other seemed taller and more lean, with unruly black curls that hung over his eyes and pale skin. His eyes were the most surprising part of him, as they were an electric blue. He looked slightly younger than the first, but much more tired.

Both boys’ gazes immediately flicked to Michael. One of the gazes showed slight surprise, the other, amusement.

”It’s been a while, Richard,” the green-eyed one said, a smirk appearing on his face.

Rich closed his eyes. “How do you know my—“

”Don’t say you’ve already forgotten me?” he said mockingly, batting his eyelashes.

”Seriously, I—“ Rich tried. His lisp came out a bit on the word, but he didn’t seem to mind until—

”Lisp.”

Rich froze. “No,” he whispered.

”Yup,” the green-eyed one said, smirking. “It’s me.”

I was confused until Rich started visibly shaking. “No.” He shook his head. “No!” Curling up into a ball, he tried to make himself invisible on the floor. “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!” he screamed, curling up tighter.

Michael sat next to Rich, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Rich... What's wrong?"

”Richard,” Green Eye said. “Breathe.”

”Can someone please explain what’s going on?” Michael said, rising from his place beside Rich.

”Ah.” The other male finally spoke. “Michael Nathan Mell.” An amused smile played across his features. 

_What the fuck?_

“How do you—“

”Where’s Jeremy?” he said, his smirk suddenly turning into a more urgent expression. “I—“

”Stay away from Jeremy,” Rich said from the corner. “Stupid headaches! Stupid Tic Tacs! Stupid motherfucking Mountain Dew!” He let out a sigh, his body stilling as he closed his eyes.

 _Wait_.

”You’re a SQUIP?” Michael said incredulously.

Both males nodded simultaneously. “We are,” they said.

”What do you want?” Michael demanded.

”It’s not like we’re here just for fun,” the shorter one said. “So shut up and listen.”


	2. Japanese Supercomputers Are Not Something You Should Make Fun Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the first chapter at like 3 am and the second at like 2 am a few days later. What’s wrong with me?

The two supercomputers glanced at each other, silent. For two data-filled and seemingly determined looking boys, they seemed at a loss for words.

”Don’t tell me you have nothing to say?” Michael said, annoyed that they weren’t saying anything that could indicate why they were in Rich’s house. “You’re a pair of Japanese motherfucking supercomputers. You can’t be speechless.” He crossed his arms, snorting at the thought. “Get started.”

Rich groaned, not moving from his spot in the corner. “My head hurts,” he mumbled, curling up tighter.

Michael moved so that he was between Rich and the computers. “You have talking to do,” he said angrily.

The short one nodded. “Yes, we do.” However, he made no move to begin explaining anything. Instead, he glanced back at the blue-eyed supercomputer and shook his head discreetly.

“We can’t give any information to you, Michael Mell,” the taller teenager said. “It is classified.” He muttered to himself. It seemed as if he wasn’t really talking to Michael anymore. “Objectives: classified. Alternatives: classified.” He was talking to himself now, computing exactly what could be said to convince Michael to relax but without giving away information. “Statistics: classified. Details: eighty-three percent classified. Subjects: classified.” He stopped. 

They waited in silence.

Finally, the blue eyed SQUIP said, as if defeated, “Redirection possibility: thirty-nine percent. Probability of resistance: eighty-four percent.” He considered for a second. His electric blue eyes scanned Michael coldly, evaluating every part of him. “Surprise counter: nineteen percent and decreasing. Emotional epiphany probability...” His blue eyes flickered. “Running evaluation...”

He opened his mouth and closed it again, seemingly at a loss for words. “Huh,” was all the computer could say.

”Wow,” Michael said, surprised. “I never thought a _supercomputer_ —that’s from _Japan_ might I mention—is at a  _loss_ for _words_.” He smiled despite the situation. “The Tic Tac doesn’t know what to say.” Michael found that surprisingly funny, and couldn’t keep a giggle from escaping his lips. “Oh my god— that’s hilarious!”

The green eyed SQUIP looked annoyed. “Yes, mock us,” he said emotionlessly. “That’ll help Richard’s headache.”

_Hold on. What?_

“What did you do?” Michael hissed, moving back to a more protective stance over Rich again. He looked down at the unmoving boy, who twitched before lying still. “Fuck.”

He knelt next to Rich, and after confirming that he was still breathing, he stood up, turning back to face the supercomputers again. “Explain,” he hissed. 

“We can’t,” the boys said in unison.

”Why not?” Michael challenged, crossing his arms.

The blue-eyed computer spoke. His voice sounded insistent, almost as if he needed Jeremy urgently. “Jeremy isn’t here.”

“Do I look like I give a shit?” Michael asked sarcastically, pointing at his face. “Spill.”

The green eyed SQUIP sighed. “We can’t give you any classified information,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s why we need Jeremy.”

Michael shook his head stubbornly. “No,” he said, crossing his arms. “Stay away from Jeremy! He doesn’t want you.”

The taller computer seemed lost in thought, but he was a computer. Computers don’t get lost in thought.

”We need Jeremy,” the green-eyed one repeated.

Michael shook his head again.

_These dumbasses don’t get it._

_That’s not an option._

“Tell me what’s keeping me from force-feeding the two of you a quart of Mountain Dew Red,” Michael said softly but very threateningly, walking toward them. “Each.”

 “You don’t compute,” the green eyed SQUIP insisted, narrowing his eyes. “I have a virus built into my program that prevents me from transferring data to any human other than Richard.” He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but then closed it, wincing as if he had been shocked.

”Does the blue one have any issues?” Michael asked irritably, referring to the silent blue- eyed computer. Said computer’s eyes glowed briefly, but he didn’t respond.

The shorter SQUIP shook his head. “No, slate is able to communicate with whomever they wish to.”

 _Slate_?

“What?”

The green eyed male gestured toward the preoccupied one. “They are able to communicate with anyone.”

The blue-eyed SQUIP seemed to stir. He mumbled something under his breath along the lines of “not defective.”

”No,” Michael said, shaking his head. “The other thing.”

”Slate?” the green eyed computer said. Michael nodded. “That is the name of my companion,” he explained, pointing at the other. “Slate model, serial number 85332.”

”I don’t care,” Michael said, scowling. “You have to help Rich. And then leave. And never come back.”

The green eyed computer rolled his eyes, walking over to Rich.

”Fuck no,” Michael said, shoving the computer away from the unconscious boy. “You’re not touching him. Help him from over there.”

”...not defective.”

The green eyed computer looked up. “I have to,” he said, sounding frustrated. “He’s not waking up otherwise.”

”How can I trust you?” Michael demanded, subtly moving so that he was between Rich and his SQUIP.

”You can’t,” the green-eyed boy said curtly. “I don’t have any words that will convince you to trust me.” He sighed in annoyance. “Just let me help him. He’ll be fine if we do something now.”

Reluctantly, Michael moved so that the computer could help Rich. The SQUIP lifted Rich’s face carefully, cupping his hands around the boy’s jaw gently. The computer put his index and middle finger on Rich’s temple and began to mutter things that were too quiet for Michael to hear. When he finished, which was a while later, he stood up and walked back across the room. “Update complete,” he murmured to himself.

Silence filled the room. 

“...not defective,” Slate mumbled, covering his head.

After a few moments, Rich groaned, stirring. “Fuck,” he said, “my head hurts.”

”...not defective.”

”Hey, Rich,” Michael said quietly, kneeling down next to the shorter boy. “You okay?”

”Mhm...” Rich groaned. “No, my head fucking hurts.”

Michael breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re fine.” He gently picked Rich up and set him on his bed.

”...not...defective...”

Rich curled up in the blankets and promptly fell asleep.

Michael sighed, partly with tiredness, partly with anger, and partly with relief at the fact that his friend wasn’t dead. He sat on the bed next to the sleeping boy, slumping.

_Thank god. Rich is okay. I’m... okay. Jeremy’s fine as long as he doesn’t know about this._

_Maybe I should sleep._

_But what about... the..._

Suddenly sleep seemed like a good option. The sound of Rich’s quiet snores lulled him, and he was already drowsy enough as it was.

”...nerve blocking: off,” a voice whispered. Quiet sobs could be heard, almost inaudible over Rich’s snoring. 

“Temporary, huh?” another voice whispered. “Nerve blocking: off.”

”It hurts... everywhere.”

Michael heard the conversation, but was to tired to put any thought into the words being said.

At some point he must have closed his eyes for a little too long, because the world soon faded to black.


	3. Death Is Not Something You Should Make Fun Of

“Wake up!”

Michael blearily opened his eyes to see Rich standing over him, shaking his shoulder. “Is your headache gone?” he slurred quietly, closing his eyes again.

”Oh no, you don’t,” Rich scolded, throttling Michael again. “I’ve been trying to wake you up for the past half hour.” He shook his head, standing up straight. “I don’t know how you fell asleep like that.” 

Michael grumbled, sitting up. “I don’t know what you mean.” He blinked and looked around the messy room. Except for the various items covering the floor, the two boys were alone.

”The SQUIPs, maybe? How they were free to roam the house and fuck up anything they wanted to?” Rich shrugged sarcastically. “I don’t know, I was passed out.”

Suddenly it all came back. The SQUIPs, the headaches, everything.

”I’m surprised you don’t have a headache with that weird fucking angle your neck was at.” Rich shook him again.

Michael rolled his eyes at Rich’s words, but nevertheless, he was still worried. “Are you okay? Is your headache—“

”Gone.” Rich’s voice sounded surprised. “I haven’t felt anything since last night.” He looked around. “Did the Tic Tacs Do something to me?” His voice sounded worried, as if passing out would be better than being near one of those things.

Maybe it was.

_If I tell him, he’ll freak the fuck out._

Michael shook his head. “No, I kept them away from you,” he lied. “So you’re good?”

Rich nodded slowly, seeming a bit skeptical of Michael’s answer. “The headache’s comepletely gone.”

”Good,” Michael said, nodding to himself. “We’re meeting Jeremy and the others at the mall today.” He crosses his arms, looking at the door. “I’ll have to go to my house before—“

”Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Rich interrupted, waving his hands in front of Michael’s face. “We have Tic Tacs to deal with,” he said, gesturing to the door.

Michael sighed, shaking his head, and walked down the stairs into the kitchen. A sweet smell filled the air as he walked down the stairs. “Hey, Rich?” he called behind him. “We’re you cooking something before you woke me u—“

”WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!”

Rich ran down the stairs and into the kitchen, shoving the green supercomputer away from the stove. 

Michael scowled at the two boys, who each gave an expressionless glance back. The blue one, which, according to yesterday, was called Slate, crossed his arms from the couch, standing up. The green one’s eyes flickered before he turned back toward the stove, where Rich stood in his way.

”Well, Richard isn’t dead yet,” Slate commented dryly as he walked over to Rich. Doing this earned him a slap in the face from the short boy. He flinched, a snarl coming into his face almost immediately after the contact.

“Fuck you,” Rich growled.

”Don’t touch me,” the SQUIP said venomously, taking a step towards Rich. 

For a second, raw fear flashed in Rich’s eyes, and he took a slight step back, closer to the stove. His back hit the handle on the oven and he spun around on reflex. As soon as he saw that there was no real danger, he sighed, relaxing, and turned off the stove.

No sooner than that, he turned around again, hatred and loathing written all over his face. “You two are going to have a very short life if that’s how you’re going to act around me.” He stormed over to Michael. “They’re leaving. Now.” He angrily gestured in the general direction of the two supercomputers. “Preferably with a gallon of Mountain Dew Red in their systems.”

Michael frowned. “Rich, as much as I’d agree with you—“

”We’re injured,” the green-eyed computer muttered angrily, looking at the ground.

”What?” Michael said in disbelief. “You’re injured?”

Slate nodded. “I was unaware that I needed medical attention until today.” He sounded almost like he was ashamed of being hurt. 

“Well, then,” Michael said, despite Rich’s protests, “what’s wrong with you?”

Slate sighed. “On the way here, we experienced some...” He paused. “...Technical difficulties with the vehicle we rode in on the way here.” He spoke while lifting up the hem of his shirt. The sight underneath caused Michael to gasp quietly, and even Rich couldn’t keep his eyes from widening slightly.

”Shit,” Michael said.

Slate’s body had a long, deep scratch running down the greater length of his torso. All around the wound was purple and yellow, most likely from bruises or infection. The edges of the wound were clean, however, along with being partially bandaged. Even so, it was nothing short of horrifying.

”You need to see a doctor,” Michael said, shocked. He took a few steps toward the Slate Model, tenative and wary.

”No doctors,” the blue-eyed computer snapped, his irises turning icy. He took a step away from Michael. “We can’t have them find any technology within us. And we can’t have any medical records laying around.” If Michael hadn’t known that SQUIPs were emotionless, he would have thought that there was fear behind his words.

”Okay,” Michael said defensively, backing away. “How are you... like, standing...?” he tried, his voice a little shaky from shock.

Slate grimaced, shaking his head. “I don’t know,” he said after a few moments. It was clear that he was lying, but Michael didn’t press.

Rich walked in between them. “Okay, so if you’re stuck with us, we’d better make a few rules.” His voice was angry and cold as he spoke to the computers. “We can’t just let you do whatever the fuck you like, whenever.”

The two teenage SQUIPs looked unhappy, but nodded anyway.

”First of all,” Michael said, snapping his fingers, “stay away from Jeremy.”

They nodded almost immediately, and Michal couldn’t help but be suspicious.

”You can’t have any contact with Jeremy,” he continued, looking at them meaningfully. “No social media, not over the internet. Make sure he can never see you. He can’t have any knowledge of your being here.”

The computers looked much less satisfied this time, but they nodded again.

Rich nodded to himself, then looked up at the two SQUIPs with a scowl. “You can’t leave the house without explicit permission from both of us.” He thought that out for a second, then added smugly, “And we have to keep you separated.”

Slate frowned, but nodded nevertheless. “Who will stay with who?” He asked slowly, looking suspiciously at Michael. The look in his icy blue irises showed annoyance and maybe... fear?

”You’ll stay with Slate,” Rich said to Michael. Michael frowned.

 _Why am I stuck with the bitch who took Jeremy away from me?_  

“I might have a problem with that,” Slate said reverently, glaring at Michael. “He helped shut me off.”

”I’m glad I did,” Michael snapped back, returning the angry glance to the SQUIP. “I was tired of Jeremy being physically unable to see me.” 

Memories began to flash through his head, reminders of the things Jeremy had said.

_Optic Nerve Blocking: On._

_Ha... and I thought_ Chloe _was jealous._

_Get out of my way... loser._

 “He helped shut me down,” Slate insisted, shuffling away from the Filipino boy. “And I’m hurt. What’s to keep him from just killing me now?”

”Relax,” Rich said, shrugging. “He’s going to tend to you. Not hurt you more.” He rolled his eyes, flinching when the green-eyed computer focused his gaze on him.

”What’s to say he won’t?” the green SQUIP said, glaring at Michael. Michael felt a pang if defensiveness as he spoke.

”I’m not like that,” Michael said curtly, glancing at Slate as he spoke. “My moms are on a business trip, so it won’t be hard to hide you.” He looked at the other three. “I’m not going to kill someone. I can’t have that on me.”

Slate looked skeptical, but he nodded anyway.

”Great!” Michael said, crossing his arms. “Now, I’m going to Pinkberry. If you want to stay here, Rich, you can.” He glanced at the short boy, who nodded. “Watch them,” he said, pointing at the supercomputers. Giving the two boys a glare, he turned toward the door. 

“See you later, I’m going out to get frozen yogurt.”


	4. The Loathing Of Kiwi Is Not Something You Should Make Fun Of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Two reasons I haven’t been updating:  
> 1\. School  
> 2\. I’m currently writing a script for myself. It’s gonna be a musical, and I really want to see it get somewhere.  
> edit// I'm grounded, so I might not update that often.  
> I promise I’ll let you all know when I get an update schedule.

When Michael got to the Pinkberry at the mall, Jeremy’s head was on the table. He didn’t react when Michael entered the small frozen yogurt store, nor did he react when Jake prodded him lightly.

”Dude, are you okay?” Michael asked, sitting across from the lanky boy. “You don’t look so good.” He lifted Jeremy’s head up, and let go of it, causing his head to fall back to the table with a _clunk_.

_Jesus Christ._

Jeremy groaned in pain, but didn’t move.

”Jeremy?” Christine said, walking toward them. She held three cups of frozen yogurt. As she sat on Jeremy’s other side, she handed one cup to Jake and slid the other in front of Jeremy. 

He didn’t respond to the pink cup full of ice cream either.

They waited in silence for Jeremy’s answer.

”My head,” Jeremy finally moaned after a few minutes, looking up. He grabbed the cup of chocolate frozen yougurt and stabbed a spoon into it.

”Where the fuck did you get that?” Michael said, surprised. He inched away from Jeremy, who was furiously eating the ice cream.

Jeremy groaned and his head clunked back down on the table. He shoved the now empty cup and spoon away from him, sighing. Michael winced at the noise.

”My head hurts,” he complained, not moving his head. Michael patted his shoulder, reaching into his own pocket.

”I brought some ibuprofen, if you want any. Rich used it yesterday and it worked for him.” He handed Jeremy the bottle of pills.

_Not to mention a Japanese supercomputer did this weird ass thing to Rich where he—_

~~~~”Where is Rich, anyway?” Jake said, leaning over to steal Christine’s kiwi yogurt. Christine swatted his hand away with a glare. “He said he would come.” Jake glanced at the door to the Pinkberry, as if he expected Rich to burst through it and run up to them.

”He... um...” Michael’s head spun as he tried to come up with a decent answer. “I don’t know,” he settled for, cringing at his fake tone of voice.

”Didn’t you take him home, though?” Jake asked, frowning. “And give him the ivy proofing?”

”Ibuprofen,” Michael corrected, biting his lip as he tried to contain his laughter. He almost failed, too, letting out a small snort. Jake pouted at him.

”What’s so funny?” he said, crossing his muscular arms.

 Christine stood up. “I’ll go get you some yogurt, Michael,” she said, walking over to the lime colored yogurt machines. 

Michael felt a warm feeling in his chest as he watched the short girl walk away. Christine was such a sweet girl— Jeremy was lucky to have her.

Speaking of Jeremy, the lanky boy groaned again, finally sitting up. He put a couple pills in his mouth and swallowed them. Without water.

Michael eyed him warily, watching to make sure he didn’t start choking. After a few moments of no adverse reaction, he relaxed and shifted in the seat, smiling a bit as Christine returned with more frozen yogurt. He briefly wondered what kind she had got him, but dismissed the thought as his worries once again directed back to the unmoving mass at the table.

Jeremy groaned and his head hit the table again. Michael sighed. “Maybe you should take him home, Chris,” he said worriedly, taking the spoon from her and dipping into his yogurt.

“Yeah,” Christine responded, glancing at Jeremy. “You don’t look so good, Jeremy,” she said quietly, sitting next to her boyfriend. He didn't move. Christine patted him on the shoulder, planting a kiss on the top of his head. Michael felt a small flare of jea--

_Stop._

Jeremy groaned again, seemingly unable to do anything else. Michael glanced at him sympathetically, before returning to his frozen yogurt.

He almost gagged when the spoon entered his mouth, the sickeningly sweet taste of kiwi overwhelming his tongue instead of the gingery taste of mint. He dropped his spoon and started coughing, the surprise quickly invading him as well. Gazing down at the pink cup, he saw that it was filled halfway with lime green frozen yogurt. "What the fuck?" he spat, covering his mouth. "I  _hate_ kiwi, Christine." He glared at the black-haired girl, who let out a giggle as his gaze flicked to her. She slapped a hand over her mouth, more giggles escaping her as Michael frowned.

Jake grinned, showing him his empty cup. "She got all of us kiwi," he said, snorting with laughter as Michael's glare was directed to him.

"But-- you  _know_ I hate kiwi," he protested, pouting.

"Yeah?" Christine said innocently. "Do you hate kiwi?" She bit her lip, trying to keep back a smile and failing.

Jeremy suddenly laughed, a wholesome sound that was annoyingly contagious, and surprisingly beautiful. He looked up, a smile gracing his freckled face. His nose wrinkled as he tried to contain his laughter. Michael laughed with him. He covered his mouth with his hand to try to stop, but he couldn't. Soon, everyone was laughing hysterically, clutching their stomachs as they tried to control it. Tears came into Michael's eyes as he cackled next to his best friend.

It took a while, but they were finally able to control themselves and talk like civilized human beings. Michael ignored the stares of strangers boring into his back, grinning along with everyone else.

_I'm so lucky to have these people._

He stood up, dumping his frozen yogurt into the trash bin nearest to their table.

Jeremy was looking up now, smiling warmly, his headache forgotten. "Jesus, Michael," he said, smirking, "get your own frozen yogurt next time."

"That's not fair," Michael said insistently, pouting. "I didn't know. Besides, she got you chocolate."

"She's my girlfriend," Jeremy said back, his smile never wavering and also driving Michael insane.  _I wish she weren't your gi--_

_Stop._

Michael bit his lip, his playful expression disappearing into a sadder one. Jeremy noticed and leaned forward, his soft blue eyes meeting Michael's brown ones.

 _God_ , his eyes were  _so beautiful._

"Are you okay?" he asked worriedly, and Michael could clearly see the bags under his eyes, most likely from lack of sleep. Michael sighed, slumping in his seat.

_Poor guy._

"Yeah," he muttered under his breath, looking at the table. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" he said gently, sliding towards Michael. Michael clenched his hands into fists.

_No. I've been in love with you for four years and just yesterday I met the awful computers that terrorized you and Rich and caused you two to have nightmares. And I'm forced to stay with him in my house and tend to him because he's injured. And I left Rich with the both of them and I'm worried that he can't handle the two of them._

"Yeah," he said slowly, not looking up from the table.

"Okay," Jeremy said skeptically, getting up to throw his, Jake's and Christine's cups away. As he moved to put them in the garbage, he dropped one on the ground. Michael watched as he bent to pick it up. As he did, a sharp, agonizing spike of pain stabbed trough his head. His fingers involuntarily shot up to his forehead, rubbing his temples as he let out a hiss of pain. 

_Shit, that hurts._

He waited for a few seconds, but the stabbing pain in the back of his head didn't lessen. If anything, it got worse. Wincing, he pulled his hood over his head and let it rest on the shiny table.

"Ugh," he groaned, pained. "Fuck."

Meanwhile, Jeremy bent over to grab the pink cup he dropped on the floor. He blinked as all of the pain in his head suddenly vanished. It was just... gone, as if it had never been there. He sighed in relief, glancing over at their table to see that Michael's head was on the table, while Jake was poking him with a spoon. The boy in the patch-covered hoodie had no sign of life about him, just sitting there, unmoving.

 Michael groaned as Jeremy joined them at the table. "Jesus fuck," he muttered, lifting his head up to meet Jeremy's concerned eyes. "What's up?" he said hoarsely, his voice unable to hide the pain.

"My headache's... gone," Jeremy said, sounding confused. "It just disappeared." He shook his head slowly in wonder. "Thank fuck."

_God, what kind of headache did he have? This is awful._

_Wait._

"I have to go," Michael said abruptly, standing up and grabbing his phone. "I'll see you guys around." Without another word, he left the Pinkberry.

His fingers clumsily fumbling his phone, he entered Rich's number as fast as he could and pressed call.

After a few rings, Rich picked up.

"Hey," Rich started, his voice sounding as if he wanted to say something. "I was going to call you, but--"

Michael didn't give him time to finish. He gripped the phone tighter, the reverb from the device causing unpleasant spikes to shoot through the back of his head and making him want to scream.

"What the fuck happened over there?" he hissed angrily.


	5. Suggestions Are Not Something You Should Make Fun Of

Rich flinched at the sound of the door slamming as Michael left the house. Gritting his teeth, he turned around to see the two SQUIPs sitting next to each other, conversing quietly. He growled under his breath, stomping over to the two computers.

"I should get you wrapped up," he said grudgingly to Slate, fury pouring off of him in waves. Slate, in turn, subtly inched away from Rich, his icy gaze flickering over his small but muscular form, almost as if afraid of him. The green SQUIP also inched away from him, probably also wary. "What?" Rich snapped, crossing his arms.

"I don't want you to touch me," Slate insisted, his gaze never leaving Rich as he moved farther away.

Rich rolled his eyes. "I don't care," he said, making no effort to hide his annoyance at the computer. "If you die, Michel will probably yell at me." He took a step towards Slate, curling his hands into fists.

The blue-eyed SQUIP flinched at the sudden motion. "No," he said, his voice wavering slightly.

_What's his problem?_

Rich impulsively grabbed Slate's chin roughly, pulling him close. He narrowed his eyes at him, growling under his breath. "Listen to me," he hissed, his grip on the boy tightening. "You're getting fixed up, whether you like it or not."

Slate's breathing quickened. He flinched again and started to hyperventilate, tears gathering in his electric blue eyes. "N-n-nerve b-blocking," he mumbled, biting his lip.

Rich snarled, pulling Slate closer. "Nerve what?" he said angrily. "Tell me, or I'll force-feed you a bottle of Mountain Dew Red."

Slate's body trembled as he tried to control himself. "P-please," he whimpered, tears slipping down his face. "N-nerve blocking." He clenched his hands into fists. "I said nerve b-blocking. I-its-it-it doesn't work." His hands dug into Rich's as he tried to escape his grasp. He gasped and broke down, his breath coming in huge sobs. "It h-hurts." He clutched at his stomach, pulling away from Rich. "It-it hurts!" he wailed again, crumpling to the ground, where he sobbed harder, his entire body shaking from his cries.

Rich tentatively put a hand on his shoulder. "I--"

The green SQUIP stood up suddenly, walking briskly to join his companion on the ground. He sat next to the younger boy, murmuring quietly in his ear. "Shh," he whispered.

Slate flinched under the green SQUIP's hand, trembling harder. "N-n-n-n-nerve... d-d-defective," he gasped out, pulling his knees in up against his body. "D-d-defective."

Rich watched, dumbfounded, as the green SQUIP whispered quiet, comforting phrases to the younger boy. 

"I-I-I should transfer," Slate whispered. "I should--"

"Don't transfer," the green SQUIP said. 

"I have to," he said, his trembling body now looking much skinnier and more frail to Rich. "I have to t-transfer."

The green SQUIP suddenly stood up and turned to Rich. "Give me a name," he said urgently. "I need it."

Rich blinked in confusion, taking a step back from the computer. "Why the fuck do you need a name?" he questioned rudely.

"He won't remember me otherwise," the green-eyed boy answered. "Give me a name."

Richard wracked his brain for a name that he could call the SQUIP. He couldn't find one fast enough, apparently, because the SQUIP said dryly, "Do you need suggestions?"

"No!" he snarled back quickly. "Your name is... I don't know! Fuck!"

"Richard," the green eyed SQUIP said insistently. "Come on."

"Fine!" Rich shouted. "You can be named William. Liam for short, or some shit."

The SQUIP blinked, surprised. "I didn't think you'd take it seriously," he said. "That's a... satisfactory name." They both glanced back to the boy on the ground.

Slate's eyes were unfocused, glazed over as he muttered words to himself like "defective," and "transfer."

Liam immediately kneeled down next to Slate and started whispering things too quiet for Rich to hear. Slate stopped trembling after a few minutes, and, when Rich slowly came closer, let out a sigh of relief. “Liam,” Slate whispered, nodding his head. He blinked and one last tremor ran through his body before he relaxed, closing his eyes.

Rich kneeled down next to Slate as well. "I need to fix you up," he said briskly, leaning forward to meet the SQUIP's eyes. So you need to get up and sit on the couch while I get some bandages."

Slate slowly nodded, getting to his feet and wincing. "That's fine," he said, his voice smoother and much more composed. “I’ll wait on the couch.” He slowly but steadily made his way over to the sofa, where he sat tentatively.

Rich's eyes widened slightly at the sudden change. "What did you do?" he said suspiciously.

”Nothing,” the blue eyed SQUIP answered calmly. “Can you get the bandages?”

”I guess,” Rich said suspiciously, keeping an eye on Slate as he took a step back. When the computer didn’t move, he walked to the bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit.

When he returned, he noticed that  Liam and Slate were conversing quietly. “What are you talking about?” he snapped at them.

Slate blinked and Rich flinched as his phone went off, its shrill ringtone a kazoo version of Taylor Swift's "Look What You Made Me Do."

Rich picked up his phone, pressing answer and putting it to his ear. “Yo, something weird just happened.”

Michael didn’t even give him time to finish. His hostile voice shot through the cell phone as he demanded to know what happened.

”Let me talk,” Rich said, rolling his eyes. He explained what happened as calmly as possible and opened the kit. “And now he’s all calm and it’s creepy.”

”Hold on,” Michael said, his voice sounding strained. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

”Dude, are you—“

 _Beep_.

Rich rolled his eyes and set down the phone. “Come on,” he said to Slate, who had been watching him intently. “Let’s get you fixed up.”


	6. Disinfectant Spills Are Not Something You Should Make Fun Of

Michael’s mind was... different.

The Filipino boy and Jeremy had so many discrepancies, with different thoughts, interests, and hobbies, but Slate was able to see why they went well together.

Michael’s enthusiastic aura helped smooth out some of the awkward energy that seemed to radiate from Jeremy. It made Jeremy much smoother, and when in his friend’s vicinity, much less uncomfortable than usual.

Michael always seemed a bit more selfless, where Jeremy was thinking about himself more frequently. As Slate accessed more of the memories he could reach, Michael’s fresher, more unblocked ones, he found several times where Michael reminded Jeremy to think of others. In his own way. Jeremy always seemed to heed him, as well.

_Like protons and electrons. Canceling each other out and making the atom neutral._

He also noticed a simple, utter loathing for science in there.

_Hmm. Maybe not._

Michael had a specific spot in his mind that was reserved for the horrors of chemistry.

 _That'll be fun,_ Slate thought, amused by the irrational detestation.

Returning to his comparison of his previous bond, he noticed several more differences.

Gone were Jeremy’s sharp, sudden spikes of awkwardness and discomfort in strange situations, the ones that would often catch Slate off guard and force him to calculate new routes. The spikes were replaced by a much softer, much more subtle blanket of anxiety that covered every thought that crossed Michael’s mind, and every memory Slate could access.

_Huh. Weird. I wonder—_

Slate blinked as a wall came up between his mind and Michael’s, and a shudder ran through his body. He blinked again, and lifted his head to see Michael coming in through the door.

”Almost done,” Rich called to the brown-skinned boy with the red sweater. “This little bitch won’t stop squirming.”

Slate rolled his eyes and let his head fall back onto the arm of the couch he was laying on, trying his best not to move when Rich touched one of his bruises. “I’ll have you know I was still the entire time,” he said tastelessly.

”Bullshit,” Michael said, his expression never changing. “That cut probably hurts like fuck.”

_Hurts like fuck?_

_Whatever._

The cut didn’t hurt anymore, and numbness had taken over. It might have stung when Rich put disinfectant on it, but that feeling had disappeared a while ago. He was slightly worried about the possible infection, but his blocking had remained strong. Still, the cut looked awful.

Well.

At least it wasn’t oozing pus.

Slate shifted on the couch, moving into a more comfortable position as Michael slumped in a chair across from him, letting out a low groan.

”Dude,” Rich said, concerned, “are you okay?”

Michael shook his head, but didn’t elaborate. Instead he stood up and walked over toward Slate, his dark brown eyes locking with the supercomputer’s icy blue ones.

”What did you do?” he hissed venomously, and Slate flinched, a tremor running through his body as he though back to what had happened in the previous hour.

”I didn’t do anything,” he lied, shifting again as if hoping to escape the burning stare. “My  blocking wasn’t working, that’s all.”

”Your blocking...?”

”I—“ Slate paused.

 _I don’t want to explain_ , he thought.

“Nothing,” he murmured, looking away. Michael watched him for a few more moments, then walked back to the chair, sitting in it and sighing tiredly.

”My head really fucking hurts,” he complained, and Rich let out a snort of laughter.

”That sucks,” he said, grinning. “Take some Advil.”

”I did,” Michael groaned, his head tipping back up towards the ceiling. “It’s not working.”

Liam’s voice echoed through the hallway as he traveled down the stairs from Rich’s bedroom.

”Maybe it has no effect because that wasn’t the solution that resolved Richard’s headache either.”

Slate’s head snapped up to meet the computer’s eyes.

 _Liam_.

He repeated the name in his head repeatedly, so it was engraved in his memory and he would never forget it.

 _Liam_.

Michael groaned again, but this one had more anticipation and wariness than pain.

”What?” Rich said slowly, setting the bandage down on Slate’s wound, in the middle of the cut. Slate winced, but didn’t move. “What did you just say, Liam?”

Liam’s gaze darted around the room before settling on Rich. “I said that your headache wasn’t resolved by ibuprofen,” he repeated, confused.

”Really?” Rich said, his accusing gaze turning to Michael. “Is this true?” he said, crossing his arms at the incapacitated boy. 

Liam, sending the tension in the room, silently handed Rich an unopened bottle of disinfectant and quickly retreated back up the stairs.

”Come back,” Slate called weakly, but to no avail.

Rich, upon receiving no response, retuned to working on Slate’s torso, applying more disinfectant where it looked worse, and bandaging it up.

While doing so, his hand slipped and some disinfectant fell onto less damaged parts of his stomach, beginning to drip down his sides. Some of the cold, thick liquid pooled on his stomach, and he heard Rich curse under his breath at his clumsiness.

Slate let out a pleased hum at the cool, refreshing feeling.

“Mm-hm. That’s good,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure if Rich could hear.

He let his eyes flutter closed and relaxed, his mind drifting back towards Michael’s. 

The wall was still there, blocking everything that now connected him to Michael.

Slate poked it tentatively. It felt cold, almost freezing to the touch. 

Well, the mental touch, anyway.

Slate tried to push against the wall, using his consciousness to poke and pull at the frigid but thin barrier between their two minds.

He continued to play with it until he found a small opening, and pushed through.

Immediately, excruciating pain shot through the base of his skull and throughout his body. It didn’t stop, though, and through the agony, he was faintly aware that he was screaming.

A few moments later, he felt hands gently help him into a sitting position. Slate blinked once, twice, three times, and flinched again as another current of agony raced through his body. Hands felt around his torso, gently finishing the bandaging and pulling his shirt over his head.

After what was probably seconds but could have been hours, the pain dulled and he closed his eyes, letting out a whimper of pain.

Blinking again, his eyes finally focused and his gaze set on Rich, who was standing in front of him with his hands on his shoulders.

Michael had also stood up and was closer to Slate as well. His gaze slid over to the blue-eyed SQUIP, concerned, wondering what was wrong with him.

 _Maybe if you’d just let me into your mind I could tell you_.

Slate shook his head, his eyes flickering downward. It was then he realized his hands were shaking. In fact, his entire body was trembling uncontrollably, and no matter how hard Slate tried to relax, the constant shivering never ceased.

Michael took another step towards Slate, and the SQUIP shifted backwards involuntarily.

Then it clicked.

_I know exactly what’s wrong._

_My blocking isn’t working._

Instantly panic began to deep into the edges of his mind, overwhelming every sense of logic and calm there was in it.

Which is a lot of logic, by the way.

”It hurts,” he whimpered, and Michael took one last step towards him.

Slate’s arm immediately shot out and grabbed Michael’s wrist, and he started muttering phrases in Japanese; informing Michael, though he didn’t know it, on his previous updates, and what had happened while he had been gone. After awhile, though, he switched back to English. “Calibration complete,” he murmured, his trembling fingers moving from Michael’s wrist to his bicep. “Update installing.”

”What?” Michael exclaimed, yanking his arm away from the shivering boy. “Stop it. What are you doing?”

Slate said nothing, his eyes glazed and unfocused as he rebooted.

Silence filled the room as the update completed.

There were so many ways Michael could be so much...  _chiller_. There were so many steps to take. There were so many things to do. It was time to begin.

Slate blinked, and was overcome with the urge to speak.

Ignoring the pain in his stomach, he rose to his full height— which wasn’t very tall— and took a step towards Michael.

”Michael Nathan Mell,” he said formally, his hands clasping behind his back. “Welcome to your super quantum unit intel processor: your SQUIP.”


End file.
